I Am The Night
by Little Ghostie
Summary: Harry Potter was raised by assassins. Albus Dumbledore has yet to decide if this is a good thing. Warning: dark humor.
1. In Which A Man Was Meant To Die Tonight

Disclaimer: I disclaim everything.

* * *

 **I Am The Night**

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 **01 – In Which Someone Was Supposed To Die Tonight**

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Dammit.

The house was empty. No souls, least of all the target, stood within its walls. The man scowled and sat at the kitchen table, fidgeting with his gloves. Focus. Think.

The car was gone from the garage. Wallets and purses and the like – gone, but nothing larger. There were still backpacks and suitcases lying in place. They hadn't gone far. Probably just a surprise trip to the store, or something.

Neighborhood talk just wasn't what it used to be anymore.

With a sigh the man stood, making sure nothing looked any different to when he had arrived. No need to arouse suspicion – the job could be done later, or tomorrow. Or something. Either way, he'd gain nothing just waiting here. He took a few steps.

A cry shattered the silence, making him drop into a defensive position. It sounded close, within the house itself. An alarm? A guard? Melting into the shadows he drew a blade and glided slowly forward, eyes peeled from beneath the hood. The cries continued, albeit softer. He followed them down the hallway. In front of the living room lay a door, and from here the noise originated. The man, dagger in hand, grasped the knob and took a deep breath.

He turned it.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was a patient man. He'd seen many years, and hoped to see many more. The wizard was a great believer in allowing things to come to pass, in planting seeds and leaving them to grow with little more than the occasional sprinkling of water on hot summer days. Needless to say, he wasn't one to fuss.

Minerva McGonagall was not a patient woman. She had far too many young charges to fuss over for that.

"It's been a month Albus! The least we should do is check on him."

"I'm certain young Harry is adjusting just fine for a one year old, Minerva. Lemon drop?" She shot him a scowl.

"It's the middle of December! What if he's caught a cold? We could slip him a Pepper-Up. Or if there's been an accident? I don't trust those people, they're the worst kind –"

"My dear, please, calm yourself." The old man treated himself to another drop, carefully busying himself with the Ministry notices he'd been so determinedly ignoring minutes ago. "If the boy were in any danger, I would know. I won't allow harm to come to him." He gazed at her through half moon glasses. "Don't you trust me?"

She glared back. "It's not you I'm worried about."

He chuckled and held out some more candy. "I think you worry too much."

* * *

 _It. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying._

The man had been all over the kitchen before finally finding appropriate nourishment for the… _thing_. That hadn't been enough.

He'd tried shushing it, singing to it, threatening it, even going so far as to _sniff_ that _disgusting piece of fluff_ wrapped around it. Nothing smelled off, so he sighed in relief (once he was a good distance away) and retreated to a corner to think.

He could always bring his dagger back out again.

 _Right, because that worked SO well earlier._

He still didn't know where that shield-bubble-thing that protected the… creature from his dramatic strike upon opening the cupboard door had come from. So now he was stuck with a monster inside an empty house in the middle of winter, and he couldn't even kill it.

Dammit.

The man sighed again. He'd acted on instinct earlier, but even he wasn't so daft as to intentionally disobey the Rules. Or the Tenets, or whatever the hell they were called now. This was an innocent, beastly as it was, and he would never take the life of an innocent.

Even if the cursed spawn of demons wouldn't shut up.

What was a… _baby, fine, I'll call it a baby_ even doing in this empty house? He knew his target had a child, but the impression he'd gotten of it from last night's stakeout was… fat. And violent. And icky. And greedy.

All this one did was cry.

It was small, and pale, with a mop of dark hair and a cut on the forehead. What he'd seen of the watery eyes was vivid green. It didn't look like either of the adults in the house. It had been lying in a basket in the cupboard under the stairs, like it had just appeared there and the residents never even knew.

Well, this sucked.

The cloaked individual dangled a throwing knife over the kid's face. It reached up to try and touch it, only to resume wailing when it couldn't reach. With a growl, the elder dangled his own fingers instead.

A tiny hand grasped one.

"There," he muttered as his pinkie was played with and the kitchen became quieter. "Shut up now while I try to figure out how to kill you." It didn't seem to mind.

There was a letter tucked in the folds of the ratty blankets that swamped the infant. From up close, he noticed how it had been ripped open, and then stuffed back into the envelope with fervor. Using his free hand, he opened it.

"Potter, huh?" The thing gurgled and gnawed on his nails. He set the letter – didn't feel like paper – down on the counter and looked the beast in the eye. "Any clue who this Dumbledore guy is?" No (legible) reply. "Right, well, I don't think that your," he glanced at the flowing green ink, "aunt is treating you like her own or whatever, so maybe you should write back and complain or something." He stepped back and glanced out the window. No cars rolled down Privet Drive at this late hour; the target still hadn't returned. Oh well, that Miles guy could take care of this. He was leaving.

Now.

A choked sob captured his attention, and he glanced back at the counter. It was crying again! God, he was glad he didn't have one. But now the kitchen was no longer quiet, and he'd have to deal with it till he got it back to that hole in the wall it presumably called home.

He sighed.

"Hey, shut up." Didn't help. Neither did "I'm going to plunge this knife into your eyeball and twist it so that your brains come out like spaghetti." And "Stop crying before I tear your limbs off ligament by ligament with my teeth" just got it thrashing around in its blankets. Finally, he huffed.

"Fine. You asked for it."

The man melted into the shadows between the fridge and the oven, drawing his sword and holding up his cloak. His brown eyes glinted dangerously in the darkness, outshining the streetlamp in the window with ease. They narrowed at their adversary.

"I am darkness." He took a menacing step forward. "I am the end. I am your doom," he loomed ominously over the bundle, eyes and blade catching the dim light. His cloak flared about him, and the creature stared with wide eyes, fists clenched.

"I am…"

Pause for breath. And dramatic effect, of course.

"Theodore Jenkins."

* * *

Somewhere, rocking a crying Dudley whilst Petunia made their quick purchases at the only corner store still open, Vernon frowned and glanced at the sky.

"Huh," He murmured. "Looks like rain."

* * *

It _giggled_.

Theodore glared at it.

"Yeah, sure, laugh at someone _else's_ name, why don't you?" He grumbled, sheathing his sword. "'Harry Potter,' right, well, your parents weren't any better at naming than mine, obviously! Kids these days," with a snort he turned, ready to stalk out – intimidatingly, of course – and was halfway to the door (like hell was he using a window _again_ ) when he caught sight of the mantelpiece.

There was a family of three in those pictures: two fat whales and a horse. At least, that was all he bothered to gather from them. No sign of the mouse or squirrel or whatever scrawny thing he'd just left behind on the counter that obviously didn't fit in and was barely deemed worthy of an actual bed. According to the letter, it had been here a month now. That was plenty of time to get a crib, right? Hell, to clear out one of those extra rooms upstairs even.

Theodore stood there a while longer.

Then he swore and stalked back to the kitchen. He already had 'breaking and entering,' along with 'premeditated murder,' 'assault' and a side of 'vandalism' on his criminal resume.

May as well add 'stealing a baby' for good measure.

* * *

 **A/N** Greetings all! Trying out something a little different here. Don't have an update schedule yet, but I'll see if I can commit to one. IATN will mostly focus on Harry's version of events, with very little of the actual Assassin's Creed plot (mostly just elements of the series) thrown in. Two big warnings: this story will be dark, morbid humor (death, mostly. What? They're _assassins_ ), and the 'humor' part may occasionally wander into crack territory. Read at your own risk.

SO, assuming I haven't scared you off... Review so I can get to the next chapter already! :)


	2. In Which A Brotherhood Adopts A Child

Disclaimer: I disclaim everything.

* * *

 **I Am The Night**

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 **02 – In Which A Brotherhood Adopts A Child**

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The house was empty.

Vernon checked the cupboard while Petunia made a round of the rooms, clutching Dudley protectively. It wasn't there. It wasn't _anywhere_. The only indication of the Dursleys' freakish house guest was the parchment – _paper, god dammit, that thing had been paper –_ lying on the kitchen counter. Petunia was quick to sweep it off.

All the house held was a family of three.

Vernon whooped.

* * *

Minerva had just left when one of the trinkets on his desk began to spin.

Albus Dumbledore paused, setting down his seventh lemon drop for the evening. He watched the object for quite some time; nothing changed. It spun at constant speed, not too fast, not too slow; it did not glow, or beep, or float, or tap dance, as one might expect in the office of a wizard.

Harry Potter had left his house.

 _What good news,_ thought the man, despite the late hour. _His family must have taken him to the store._

He chuckled and returned to eating candy.

The trinket did not stop.

* * *

"Jenkins!"

Theodore looked up. The hallway was long, dark, and lit only by torches (one had gone out), and a tall, scrawny cloak was hustling towards him.

"Good, I just caught you. Did you have a job tonight? How'd that go? Anyway listen, I'm supposed to go assassinate some guy in London later but I just got a call from the States. My nephew got into some trouble with the Templars – you remember Desmond, right? He's a good kid, just needs to get out and kill people more. But now he's gone and gotten himself into trouble and I really need to go catch this flight I just booked – leaves in an hour, I'm going to have to sneak on board now – to get him out of it and I – _what. Is. That."_

Theodore held out the bundle.

"Congratulations. You're the second person in the Brotherhood to meet the newest member of it. This is Harry Potter."

Miles, the grunt-level Assassin who refused to tell anyone his first name, stared at the _thing_ for several moments, which ended with him cautiously poking it.

"Is that a –"

" _Brand. New. Assassin_."

"But, that's a –"

" _Assassin."_

"But –"

" _Ass. Ass. In._ "

"…You just swore in front of it!"

" _Ass –_ huh?" Theodore blinked. "Huh. You would think a Brotherhood that's existed for all of recorded history would have noticed by now."

"Yeah," Miles nodded emphatically. "Though in hindsight, calling someone a donkey isn't much of an insult. It must have come from us."

"Mm," Theodore agreed. "I suppose we have shaped history in more ways than just killing people."

"Uh – huh."

"Well."

"…So why do you have a –"

" _Ohmygosh is that a_ _ **baby**_ _?"_

Hell broke loose. And promptly returned to its cage, whimpering.

White cloaks began pouring in, invading the small hallway as they flooded through doors and windows and ventilation shafts and secret entrances and from beneath each others' robes, mobbing one another to get a look at the small bunch of baby blue blankets with duckies on them. Some were making cooing noises; others were holding up cameras. Several found themselves being mercilessly thrown out of the way as Margaret Walkington, owner of the earlier squeal, came to the forefront.

"Oh Theodore, is it _yours_?"

"I –"

"You didn't tell me you were married!"

"I –"

Oh, let us see it already! What's its name? Is it a boy?"

"He said its name is Harry Potter." Miles supplied helpfully. Margaret gasped.

"Is that the mother's last name? Potter?" Without waiting for Theodore's input she turned to the crowd and shouted "has anyone heard of a Potter?"

"There's a Potter in Bankside!"

"Harefield! Working in the pub!"

"Knightsbridge! Oh, but I may have killed that one…"

"Two! In Godric's Hollow!"

"Potter is his father's name!" Theodore managed over the throng of excited Assassins, many of whom began screaming anew. Margaret finally turned to him.

"You mean to tell us that Jenkins isn't your last name?"

"What? Of course it is –"

"Why that's _brilliant_! Of course you wouldn't be so daft as to use your real name as an Assassin, what if you were caught? I mean, no offense Theodore (that is your _first_ name, right?), but you're not exactly the most skilled among us, and such a comical name really does lend itself to making your opponents underestimate you –"

"…What?"

"What is going on in here?"

Like a flipped switch, there was silence. Slowly, the mass of robes turned to face the one standing in the doorway at the end of the hall. It stood menacingly, silhouetted by torchlight, and glided down the stonework, parting cloaks as it went.

Theodore suddenly found himself alone.

"Master. I… Uh…"

Wizened eyes glinted at him. "Yes?"

"Ah… Well, you see –"

"Ga?"

As a single entity, the entire Brotherhood of Assassins (England Branch) gazed upon the emerald green eyes of the first infant to ever grace the halls of their current headquarters.

(Not that it meant much. Their previous one had been mysteriously destroyed in a freak tornado replete with random bolts of red and green light and flying broomsticks. They'd taken a landslide vote to never mention the incident. The current excuse was a shared desire for modern electric wall sockets.)

Little Harry Potter closed his fingers around the one proffered by the resident Master Assassin.

"Theodore," he rumbled as he played with the toddler. "As much as I'm sure family takes precedence, this is no place for your son –"

"He's not mine!"

There were gasps of shock, but whether they were aimed at his declaration or the fact that he'd so brazenly interrupted the Master Assassin, he had no idea. The child in his arms let out a shriek of laughter and stuck the Master Assassin's fingers into its mouth as he hurriedly continued.

"I mean, I'm not being cheated on or anything, that would be ridiculous seeing as I'm not, ah, married. Or even have a girlfriend. Or ever had one, for that matter. But because I've never had one they couldn't possibly have cheated on me. And I couldn't possibly have a… have _offspring_ because that requires certain… things. Things. And… Stuff. That I do not have. …Look, there's a very good explanation for all this!"

"Jenkins-Potter calls it a 'Brand New Ass Ass In.'" Miles piped up. The Master Assassin frowned.

"You're teaching it to swear?"

"My last name is _not_ Jenkins-Potter! My last name is Jenkins! Just Jenkins!"

"Well then, Just-Jenkins, where did this Brand New Bleep-Bleep-In come from?"

"It's _not_ – wait, what did you just say?"

"Well then, Just-Jenkins, where did –"

"No, the bleep-bleep part!" The Master Assassin looked patronizing.

"Well I can't have you cursing in front of it; you'll send a bad message to children everywhere!" Theodore gaped at him.

"You mean I'm allowed to murder parents in front of their children in the hope they'll grow up seeking vengeance, but I'm not allowed to swear in front of a new Assassin?" The Master Assassin clapped his hands.

"We have a new Assassin? How joyous it is to add a fresh face to our ranks! Where are they?"

"Right here!"

Theodore gestured at the duckie-plastered bundle, which gurgled with the Master Assassin's finger still clamped between its few baby teeth.

"This child is an Assassin?" The Master Assassin asked skeptically. Theodore flushed.

"Well, no. Not _yet_. I thought, maybe we could train him up to it."A low murmur swept the crowd, with hushes of " _train_ him?" and "are we qualified for this sort of work?" and "I never signed up for this!"

The Master Assassin blinked, and Assassins everywhere gasped again – that was about as surprised as he got. Jenkins was really pushing it today.

"Train him?"

Deciding he _really_ had nothing left to lose after all this, Jenkins nodded vigorously.

"You wish to take him as an apprentice?"

"Oh! Er… I guess?"

"You guess?"

"I was thinking maybe it would be more of a… team effort?" He snuck a glance at the gathered Assassins, who suddenly all seemed to find the ceiling rather fascinating. They were abruptly interrupted in their musings on the striking color of the grey stone when the Master Assassin clapped his hands together again.

"Ah! A group project!"

With a slight sense of danger, Jenkins forced himself to ignore the murderous glances being sent his way, gulped, and whispered "sure."

"Right!" The Master Assassin turned and began to stride down the hallway. "Everyone without a current mission, to the auditorium! Speaking of which," the Master Assassin glanced back at Miles, "I thought you had some pressing concern to attend to?"

Miles jumped. "Ack! My plane!" Dashing off, he called over his shoulder, "Jenkins, I'll leave that London target to you then!"

Theodore hesitated, before sighing and looking at the Master Assassin's back. "Master, I now have a current mission. May I be excused?"

The assembled Assassins glared at him.

* * *

 **A/N** Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, or even just took the time to read the last chapter! I guess I'm doing something right. I'm going to try to come out with a chapter each month; if I can find more time to write that might change, but I think it might be better to aim for consistency/quality.

A quick note on OCs: I want to minimize them as much as possible, but the fact is that Harry had to be raised by _someone_. They'll appear on occasion, especially for these first few chapters, but afterwards you shouldn't have to pay as much attention to them.

Another note, for AC fans: any references to the actual Assassin's Creed series are largely for comedic effect. I may be fudging the timeline slightly, but don't expect to see those characters actually appear as part of the plot. Non-AC fans, I'm aiming to write this story such that you still enjoy it. Small reference jokes aside, let me know if you think it's becoming incomprehensible.


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